Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
An Excerpt From My Book, 'Love, Life, and Darkness'
“Blood, Tears, Words” The gentle scratching of a quill on paper echoes through the dimly lit halls. Never ceasing, I find innovative the page. The words become stronger, a true extension of myself. The hope, the loss, the love felt through the years made manifest in the stories I tell. I don’t realize it, but I’m gripping the quill quite hard. So much so, I can feel my fingertips start to bleed. It runs down the point just as I reach for the inkwell, a drop of blood falls in. I fail to realize this and continue writing. The red and black in the inkwell form a spiral, running infinitely deeper. The blood ink makes contact with the page. The words become stronger, a true extension of myself. The hope, the loss, the love felt through the years made manifest in the stories I tell. I don’t realize it, but I’m gripping the quill quite hard. So much so, I can feel my fingertips start to bleed. It runs down the point just as I reach for the inkwell, a drop of blood falls in. I fail to realize this and continue writing. The red and black in the inkwell form a spiral, running infinitely deeper. The blood ink makes contact with the paper, and my words begin to shape the world around me. Every beautiful moment made real, every dark one made horrible. All extremes, all emotions, all the words of a man gone mad. I write faster and faster, harder and harder. The quill becomes weak, brittle. It’s almost frantic now as more and more of my blood is etched upon the page. Finally, the quill snaps at the tip. Everything stops, everything is calm. The wind dies, the candle becomes still, and I look up for the first time in…. forever. I look at my hand, still bleeding at the tips. I stare at my fingertips, still bleeding. A few more drops fall into the ink, and form a heart. I stand up and walk away from my desk. The small house fades to a broken-down image of itself, the candle dies out completely, and I fade away into the night. Only to return, and write.
By Tristan Polly8 years ago in Poets
Reality, Epiphany, and Destiny
REALITY, EPIPHANY, and DESTINY As I press close to my pillow I imagine myself tracing the curves on your chest while talking about our dreams and our nightmares. While thinking about a better us. When I think you are finally asleep I hide in my pillow and continue to think about us. I get pulled back into reality. I see that it was just a thought. I could never actually have you. I could never actually be yours. And it makes me sad. It's painful that reality is so blunt with me. I have been trying to fight with reality for some time now but then epiphany slaps me in the face and I realize that I am the only one fighting reality. I need help, I need you to help. I need to know reality will let destiny change. Epiphany sits and laughs as destiny unfolds in front of me and I don't see your name anywhere in my future. I cry as reality rubs my back and tell me that it's only the beginning. I've been fighting reality for so long, I've changed part of my destiny. I might have given up the actual person that was in my future. Hopefully, someone else will come along and be part of my destiny. But I can't help but to stop and think what if you do find your way into my destiny. I can laugh at epiphany and show destiny that you are my reality. I want to lay next to you and trace the curves of your chest as we talk about our dreams and our nightmares. While thinking about a better us. And when you finally fall asleep I can fall asleep too, because there won't be no need to try and hide 'cause reality will be sitting on the dresser while destiny smiles.
By Alize Williams8 years ago in Poets
